


New Media

by outlier



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlier/pseuds/outlier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she enables the feed, already bemused that this will likely be her second disaster diverted from a continent away and all before she finishes breakfast, it’s not the fact that it’s Parker that catches her off-guard. It’s that Parker is naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Media

It’s almost by happenstance that she’s there when the call comes in. She’s got to be at her appointment soon – invitation only, and not from the kind of designer who gives these types of opportunities often – so it’s tea and toast before finding just the right thing to wear. She’s been mapping out outfits for weeks and still isn’t sure, though the thrill of cutting it close to the bone reminds her, in the faintest of ways, of watching the seconds count down on a con resting on everything falling into place at exactly the right moment.

When she enables the feed, already bemused that this will likely be her second disaster diverted from a continent away and all before she finishes breakfast, it’s not the fact that it’s Parker that catches her off-guard. It’s that Parker is naked. 

She very nearly drops her cup of tea.

“Parker,” she gasps, a little scandalized but mostly surprised. “What are...”

At the sound of her voice, Parker stops frowning down at something just below the frame. “Oh, it’s you,” she says, as if it’s somehow a surprise to see Sophie looking back at her, mouth agape. “I thought I was doing it wrong.”

There’s a moment when Sophie wonders if Parker has reached her intended party or if this was a call meant for someone else. The notion that it might be the latter makes her heart flutter in a thoroughly disturbing way.

She tries again to ask just what the hell is going on. “Parker, what are you…”

If she’d thought that opening up her video conference link to find Parker naked on the other end was one of the biggest surprises of her life thus far, she is even more amazed by the rapidity with which it’s replaced. It wasn’t that Parker had turned away from her. No, that was more than welcome, because it gave her a prime view of Parker’s sleekly muscled back and deliciously pert bottom, and she’s not shocked enough to overlook the fact that it’s something to be appreciated.

It was more that Parker had apparently been blocking her view of a nude, bound, and gagged Tara.

The first thing that registers consciously is confusion. It’s the crew’s usual headquarters, but that table doesn’t belong there. It’s simply nonsensical, because it’s blocking access to the couch and cluttering up what effectively serves as the den. It disrupts the flow of the entire space and is certainly a major feng shui faux pas, and why is Tara laid across it like that? They eat there, after all, and now she’ll never be able to look at it again without thinking about the way Tara’s breasts look pressed against it in profile.

The next thing that registers is the absolutely divine rope work. Later, she’ll attribute her piecemeal examination of the scene to shock. Her overloaded brain, as it were, breaking the sight down into digestible bites until she absorbs enough of it to be able to engage fully. She registers the cording of the rope, and the way Tara’s hands are stretched out in front of her, one closed into a fist and the other wrapped around it. The coils of rope start at her wrists and move halfway down her forearms, widening out into a V along with the natural position of her body. It’s an almost artistic touch, the way the rope snakes back underneath to lay flat and taut against the table, obviously tied to something she can’t see at the other end. It keeps Tara prone, her arms outstretched to their full length in front of her.

Something Parker, with all her years of experience, could probably construct in her sleep.

Tara’s got her head turned toward Sophie. Her cheek rests on a bicep; her pale blue eyes are wide – the coquettish ingénue in over her head – but there’s a hint of challenge there as well. A loose white cloth is tied at the back of her head, the gag more for show than anything else, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Sophie’s eyes trace over it and further down, taking in the inviting dip at the base of Tara’s spine and the flex of a muscular thigh.

Her mouth goes dry.

“I know what you said,” Parker says, and suddenly she’s back in the frame. She’s got something in her hand, and it only takes a moment for Sophie to realize what it is. “You want us to leave you alone. Hardison says you need psychological separation, but I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Well…”

“So I thought I would remind you of the things you could have if you were here.”

As she speaks, Parker moves with a skillful economy of movement. The dildo – and of course it’s green, Sophie thinks– is slipped through the plastic o-ring on the front of the harness and the last catch is snapped into place. She steps into the seemingly hopelessly tangled leather straps with unbelievable ease, and before Sophie can even really register what’s happening, Parker has the harness slung low around her hips. She gives each of the loose straps a tug, tightening them, and straightens everything with such efficient and practiced ease that Sophie can almost imagine she’s pulling on her rappelling gear instead.

It’s unbelievably arousing, in a business-like kind of way.

To buy time, and because she’s legitimately concerned, Sophie ventures hesitantly,”Parker, did Tara agree to let you tie her up?”

Parker’s look is withering. She shrugs, offers the finest in her repertoire of dead-eyed stares, and says, “She likes this kind of stuff.”

Sophie feels the need to verify. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Parker rolls her eyes and reaches forward, tugging the gag out of Tara’s mouth.

“Don’t be such a prude, Sophie,” Tara all but purrs at her, with enough derision to raise her hackles. “Have you gone provincial on me?”

Sophie’s outrage dies a silent death as Parker picks up a condom packet from the table, tears it open, and rolls the sheath down over her newly acquired cock with professional precision.

“Is there a reason why you felt I would want to see this?” she asks weakly, not sure to whom the question is directed.

“Yes.” It’s all Parker says before she reaches up and tugs Tara’s gag back into place. She takes up position behind Tara; she’s got her feet planted firmly, shoulder width apart. Her hips are canted forward, and she looks suddenly more imposing than Sophie knows her to be.

The bottle of lube must have been hidden by the curve of Tara’s body. Sophie is almost surprised by it when Parker holds it aloft, one hand positioned palm up nearly a foot below. The expression on Parker’s face is intensely focused as she squeezes a pool of it into her palm, and Sophie finds herself unable to look away from the thin line of clear liquid.

“I would appreciate…” she begins, intent on demanding an explanation, but completely loses her train of thought midway through.

Parker is stroking her cock in long, slow, lazy strokes. The lube makes it glisten; it softens it in a way. Makes it silky and shiny, and she nearly jumps at the low moan Tara gives when a few drops of excess lube drip down to pool at the small of her back. Parker’s got her hand turned the other way now, so that the knuckles are facing Sophie, and she’s still stroking and Sophie just can’t stop staring. It’s almost as if Parker isn’t paying attention to what she’s doing, as if her hand is moving unconsciously. As if the sight of Tara naked before her prompts her to touch herself.

When Sophie finally tears her gaze away, it’s to find that Parker is staring at her.

“Are you ready?” she asks, and Sophie is on the verge of answering in the affirmative when Tara’s impatient moan cuts her short.

And then Parker is truly between her legs, one hand on her cock guiding it down and in. This time, Sophie finds the sight she can’t look away from isn’t the way Parker sinks slowly into Tara. Instead, it’s Tara’s face. It’s the way her eyes widen. The way they go liquid. The way they flutter shut even as her lips curl up into a smile. It’s in the way she inhales deeply and holds it, capturing the moment and extending it.

It’s the way a thick lock of blonde hair slips down, obscuring just enough of her face to make it a mystery.

Sophie isn’t aware of the way her own heart is racing until she hears it in the shaky draw of her breath.

She’s got a white-knuckled grip on the edges of her small breakfast table. She’s wet. It’s undeniable, but even though her every instinct propels her to unwrap her fingers from their death grip on the table and find a much better use for them between her legs, she can’t move.

Parker’s got her hands on Tara’s hips, pushing into her in short, quick strokes. She’s scowling with concentration. It’s an almost bullish expression, and Sophie finds it even more compelling than the staccato whap whap whap of her hips against Tara’s ass.

The visual almost hypnotic – the steady drive of Parker’s body into Tara’s, the way Tara’s body shifts slightly with each thrust, the slip of Parker’s ponytail over her shoulder. She isn’t sure how long she’s watched when Parker suddenly stops, and she has to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from protesting.

When Parker’s eyes fix on hers, assessing her, she blushes guiltily.

Parker has to put her hands on the table for support as she leans over Tara. Sophie notes idly that though the expression on Parker’s face is menacing, the way she looms over the tightly bound Tara most certainly isn’t. It’s something else, something Sophie can’t quite define. Commanding, maybe, but she’s never really thought of Parker as someone who could pull off that particular con.

Then again, Parker’s never lacked for confidence when performing a skill she’s mastered.

She isn’t tall enough to cover the length of Tara’s torso, so Parker’s lips aren’t quite at Tara’s ear when she asks, eyes still fixed on Sophie, “Do you want it?”

Sophie finds she can’t break Parker’s unwavering stare. She nearly whimpers out a reply, because yes, god, she does want it, and can only hope Parker doesn’t notice.

Tara is of a similar opinion. The actual words are muffled by the cloth gag in her mouth, but the fervent agreement is clear nonetheless. It makes Parker’s eyes flash mischievously in a way that, in turn, makes Sophie’s fingers tighten their grip on the table. When she adds a wolfish smile, Sophie swallows hard.

As quick as a cat, Parker is standing once again. She rests one hand on the small of Tara’s back. The other, out of sight, hangs by her side.

“Go on, then. Take it.”

At any other time, Sophie would probably marvel at the core strength it must take for Tara to grind herself back on Parker’s cock like that. It’s positively sinful, the way her body moves. Sophie’s put in mind of a panther, and wonders vaguely how anyone tied to a table can manage to pull off predatory.

The hand Parker has at the small of Tara’s back slides smoothly up her spine. It wraps Tara’s ponytail around her fist and pulls back hard; it forces Tara’s head up, makes her neck arch in a curve that Sophie finds objectively quite appealing, and prompts Tara to close her eyes in something that isn’t quite a wince. Parker’s other hand, the one that had been hidden at her side, insinuates itself between Tara and the table.

Sophie can tell when Parker finds just the right spot by the way Tara’s eyes fly open.

It doesn’t take long after that. If Tara’s movements before had been sinuous, now they’re purposeful and uninhibited. She does what she needs to do to find the right combination of cock and fingers, and when she does, Sophie is vaguely surprised that she doesn’t a) bite through her gag or b) break something, given the way her body pulls tight and jerks hard.

The table screeches loudly as it wrenches forward a good two inches, but Parker, ever nimble, doesn’t stumble.

A moment more and Tara’s collapsed and Sophie’s on the verge of hyperventilation, but Parker looks as unruffled as ever. She wraps a hand around her cock to steady it as she pulls free, strokes it again, then absently brings her palm up and licks it.

“You should come back, Sophie,” she says, one hand falling to rest on the curve of Tara’s ass.

“Parker…” Sophie tries for more, but can’t manage to formulate a sentence. And then Parker’s walking toward her, slick green cock bobbing in time with her gait. It’s all been glances and entendre, but now, watching Parker come toward her, she wishes the gulf between them was measured by feet, not oceans.

“I can think of good reasons,” Parker adds. She’s gotten a remote from somewhere. She raises it, points it at the middle of the screen, and smiles. “Next time I see you, we can discuss them.”

Sophie opens her mouth to reply, no more sure of what she’s going to say this time than she had been the last, but Parker presses a button and her screen goes black.

Later, Sophie will possess enough hindsight to appreciate the skillful way Parker managed her mark. She’ll even take pride in it. For now, though, her appointment – invitation only – goes to the next girl in line.


End file.
